Angels of Anarchy
by edinarain
Summary: The Joker may have found a kindred spirit in his Psycho-Anaylist, but what will it take to crack her? i'm bad at these, a semi-original character, somewhat of a cross over
1. Before I Forget

Angels of Anarchy

Angels of Anarchy

Alright, this is actually the middle of the story, but I wanted to start with it because it came to me in a rush of creativity at 1 this morning :-D

This is a conversation between the Joker and a psycho-analyst (she's trying to profile the Joker, figure out why he kills and his pattern). I do NOT own the joker, because if I did I would be a rich and not writing fanfics while I'm bored on summer break. I do KINDA own the character he is talking to, but I steal her personality from her parents (just can't tell you who they are yet), who I do not own either. Please read and review, I have the rest of the story started in my head, but I'm not sure yet I'll be writing it all.

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I walked into his room. I had decided it would be best to try this where he was most comfortable. I requested they not give him any sort of drugs today, and not bind him.

I choose to wear one of my old outfits, jeans and a black wife beater so that I would be more comfortable in this situation. My dreadlocks were free on my head, and I hadn't worn any contacts so my bright grayish blue eyes could stare into his. I wasn't sure what was going to happen, but at this point I was desperate to get something besides lies and gibberish out of him. After a month of going, all I know is that he doesn't remember much about when he was young. Thinks sex is highly overrated, and likes to think of people as chess pieces._ Great_.

His hair had grown quiet long, with green frosted tips and dark brown hair dripping wet from the mandatory shower, and wildly curly around his thinning face, he looked almost human. We were both bare of any façade. "Hello Alice" his face broke into a manic smile as I entered the room. "I see by the looks of it, it's casual Friday here at PsychoCentral"

I chuckled at his little attempt at humor, and leaned against the wall. _Don't look nervous_. I tried to put on my stern parent face. I jumped right into where I wanted our conversation to go today, no more beating around the issue that plagued me most. "You know, without a motive you're just crazy. Without a motive you are stuck in here forever. There has to be a reason you are who you are, and you do what you do. Things just don't –"

His face lit up, his brilliant mind welcoming intelligent conversation. "You people…and your motive…action theory. You are so obsessed with reason that you can't begin to comprehend…that some things happen without it. Some **things** occur, no long term...and." He sighed, trying to organize his thoughts. His speech pattern, remaining at it's steady inconsistency "Random acts. No motive, nothing it in."

"People don't just do. Something happened to make them want to."

He began to get a little frustrated, "You can't believe in something happening w/out some sort of motive or as a reaction. Sometimes you just act, no reason, no great subconscious, repression, nothing." His face made a twisted smile, "What happened in your past that you are trying to make some linear sense out of?"

My face began to get flush, I spoke more rapidly and this seemed to delight him, "Nothing is random, there is pattern in everything. Even you. You assume I think the way I do because of something that could have happened a long time ago. It would be a reason; it shaped me as a person. It becomes part of my processing when I think. You…there has got to be the key event to you" I stared into his eyes, searching and begging with my soul. I changed tactics, "When was your first kill."

His voice coated with annoyance, "I already told you that I don't remember."

I kept pushing him, but trying to keep calm in my voice, "What's the first time you remember? How much blood, what did it smell like, feel –"

His face regained the contorted grin from earlier, "You're crAaAaAzy."

I moved closer to him, my hands near my face, I wanted to reach out and shake him. Instead I took a deep breath, "The reason's locked away in you somewhere. I'm just trying to understand it. If we can figure out why you do it…there is order to you somewhere." I sighed, I wanted to sit down, the whole encounter was more taxing that I had anticipated.

"No great mystery. It felt good." His voice took on a slightly lower octave, almost growling, he rushed towards my body in an all to familiar choke hold against the wall "Better than an orgasm," his body pressed into mine, his lips nearing my ears, "better then the rush of drugs. Life as it was leaving the frail body." His lips pressed into my neck at the artery. He snatched his head away and looked up into my eyes, "hahahaHAHAHAHAHAHA don't look so pale doctor. You did ask me. Are you curious about it so much because you want to do it? OOOOh, I do recommend a knife, it can leave such" and his voice dropped to a growl, "an impression." He began tonguing the scares on his face in an attempt to show them off.

Breaking, as I had done once before, I threw my body weight at him, tumbling to the floor, my hands now around his throat and my legs rapped around his stomach, my face now invading his, "So why don't you kill me? Why don't you kill Batman? Where is your switch? When does it feel bad? When does you chaos become too much?" I was growling by the end of this, my teeth bared. Our roles completely reversed, he had done it again. Caused me to get to the point where he wanted me, mad and almost tipping over the edge. Today I could feel the edge slipping, I could see it, and suddenly the memories came flying back at me.

He smiled, and touched my face tenderly, "Oh, I can't tell you thhaaaat." His hands roamed behind my head and into my dreads. He slowly eased my face to his chest, "Where is your sense of adventure dear Alice? What's in this for you? What's in your head?" My body went limp with exhaustion as he rubbed my back.

The room started spinning as I remembered.

--

So, what do you think? It should probably be edited, and the likes. Please read and review.


	2. All I Am Is All I'll Be

So here is, well the beginning of the story

So here is, well the beginning of the story. I am trying to really introduce the Alice Character and who she is, so you can later understand why she reacts to Joker the way she does. Her character gets laid out slowly, and you really don't know the full her until we reach back to the first chapter and right after that she gets reveled for all she is. I know it can be a boring process for some, but I think for those that stick through it, it will be a good story and character study. Also the story goes between what's happening, and the back building of both Alice and later the Joker since I believe our past is why our present is happening.

I won't update this frequently always, just in a creative mood, but I do like to talk a lot pre-story. I think I'm about done. Again: I DO NOT OWN THE JOKER/ARHAM…anything DC COMIC, and I only semi-own Alice. She is NOT Alice in Wonderland, she just sometimes likes to think she is, and thinks lines from the book/Disney movie frequently.

Without further adu-

Ps. Sorry if some of the details about her and her thoughts seem, rushed or bunched up, trying to fit a lot of character that I visualize into writing, and it can be hard to edit sometimes.

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Here it is, there I am, all frumpy in this damned mirror. My reflection stuck it tongue out at me; or rather I stuck my tongue out at it. My watch floated around my wrist, taunting me with the ever-moving minute hand. I put the colored contacts I had stolen into my eyes with surprising ease, desperate to hide my bring grey blue eyes that seemed to give me trouble no matter where I went. When your eyes looked so different like mine did, everyone thought they were fake, or wanted to know about your parents, really a whole mess of things. Bright blue eyes worked better.

I tried to pull my dreadlocks back into something resembling neatness. The light blue pant suite I borrowed from my next-door apartment neighbor hung off of my underweight frame, my stomach growled for greater effect. The only thing not to big was the top half of a wife beater peeping through as an attempt at an undershirt, but it certainly added an air of ridiculousness.

_Always look up, speak nicely…_

It was time, my first **real** job interview. Well the last of a line of interviews for this place. But the first formal meeting with the new head of Arkham. My five foot three inch frame wobbled at first in the oversized high heels. All in all, I am sure my appearance wasn't of a young woman going to interview at the most prestigious institution, but of a little teenage girl wearing her mothers clothes in order to impersonate her way into a bar.

My 1984 faded red Fiero putted along the streets of Gotham, my beat up computer bouncing in the seat next to me with a map on the screen. Once I arrived, my drivers license was shown to three people to be let just into the parking lot, each officer believing me less than the previous one. The gothic gates opened into a relatively empty lot, but my nerves made parking a harder task than I had anticipated.

In order to keep from running to the front doors, I counted seconds, and only allowed myself a step for each. Of course, landing on an even and solid number for good luck as I took my first step into the building.

I closed my eyes, I breathed in…_antiseptic_. My first reaction was gagging, the overbearing smell of chemical cleansers and medication was all to much. On top of it, stupid foam soap dispensers seemed to be everywhere; it was every mysophobe's wet dream. The second reaction was to the freezing temperature and pale yellow walls with powder blue trim. At this, I also felt like gagging. I walked over to the bullet proof intake window, a stereotypical gum chewing secretary sat behind it staring at me.

_Is she laughing?_

She chewed her gum like a cow, "You're here for that" **smack **"interview, right? " **chomp** "You're from Gotham U with that" **pop** "special scholarship." Her eyes roamed over me like a tigress protecting her herd. "Nice suit."

I took a deep breath in, and simply nodded ignoring the suit remark. Her long black hair and short bangs, coupled with the ridiculous gum chewing and fake nails, made her almost comical as she picked up the puke green phone to the boss know I am here. I felt like I was bearing witness to the 1940s in some sort of wormhole behind the barricaded desk. It wasn't until she leaned back to file her fake nails, did I realize why she was there. Her breast seemed to engulf all I could see, and for a moment, all I could think about. My mouth slightly opened and all I could think was, _oh my god._ At least if I get the job, I know it's not for my size B's.

A few security guards busted through the security doors keeping me out of the inside of Arkham. Sandwich between the tall, muscles of men made me look even more ridiculous and I couldn't help but let out a slight chuckle at the sight of our reflection as we passed by mirror windows. The guards, who I am beginning to learn lack any sort of grace, also busted through to the room in which I would get my interview. The walls shook from the force of their entry.

I sat on a cold hard chair, seeming more out of place now that I was here across from the nice dark blue pressed suite of Arkhams new head. His hair was greased back, his eyes cold yet eagerly scanning my body in some attempt to assert his authority, and always with the over welcoming smile of psychologist the world over. His face returned to my paperwork.

_Stop twiddling your fingers_

"Your resume is impressive. You were in the top ten of your class at GU. A few things do concern me however. In your psychological exam, you seem to have problems with your early-" his voice, distant and bored.

"With all due respect, Sir, many great psycho-analyst have experienced traumatic events in their childhood."

"So have a great many killers." He waited impatiently for my reply. A game of cat and mouse had been set, and at any moment I pictured him jumping over the table to finish me off.

"Which would be relevant if I presented any signs of psychotic behavior, or tendencies towards violent acts." My index and thumb finger began to circle one another again, _nail, skin, nail, skin._ My answer satisfied him, and he changed subjects.

His gaze shifted towards my eyes for the first time during the interview. "I am sure the awarder of your scholarship will be pleased that you have found work at such a prestigious institution, but just so you understand, it is a great risk to hire someone just out of college for a job that requires," his eyes scanning around the room at the awards and press clippings there, "a great deal of experience and knowledge. You came highly recommended by your professors, but at the first sign of inexperience or trouble you are gone." His eyes once again returned to my paperwork.

I let go of a breath I wasn't even aware I was holding. I have a **job**, even if it's only because of my scholarship from Bruce Wane Inc. I am sure in my monthly dinner with him, he will be happy to hear his name got me here. But no matter, I have a fucking job!

His eyes returned to study me once more, "Please, try not to be such" he paused, searching for something polite, but instead using what had first come to mind, "an eyesore when you come to work. Your, uhm," his left hand motioned towards my hair, "rats nest needs to be pulled back properly or cut out, you need to wear clothes that **fit,** no piercing that your patient can grab, nails with no polish, and if you insist on wearing heals do make sure you can at least run in them..." he trailed off about lengths of things and appropriate amount of skin.

At first the comment about heals and polish shocked me. As he droned on I sat and tried to make sense of it. But of course. I am working somewhere where they might want to check my fingernails for oxygen and i might need to run from a patient. _Oh dear, what have i gotten into this time?_

"...and come Monday, they will show you to where your office will be. We'll be starting you off with slightly more functional patients until we are comfortable you can handle someone tougher."

The doctor stood up extending his right hand towards me, and I clumsily followed suite pushing the chair in a sound that can only be related to nails on a chalkboard. His large 6 ft frame towered over me as the dread began to settle over me. I was realizing my unimpressive height and size might be to my disadvantage.

There is a lot to do this weekend. I rushed back to my car, drunk off of the prospect of working with some of the most demented minds the world has ever known. Once in the car, a single thought sobered me back up, where will I find the money to get myself presentable?

The whole time at GU I never had to work hard at my appearance. My small wardrobe was filled with 3 pairs of jeans, 2 pairs of skinny pants, a beaten shirt that was from early childhood, and cheap packs of wife beaters/v necks galore. I locked my hair freshman year, in an effort to reinvent myself and was always too lazy to brush it back out, and had grown to like it. My nails grew organically, breaking and growing how they wanted. I stole colored contacts all the time, and only a rare few had seen me without them. Honestly, I looked somewhat like a teenage surfer from California, not a professional psycho-analyst. Almost home I pulled out my brick of a phone and dialed a number I always hated to be using.


	3. Temporary Smile

Alright, this is NOT my best writing, and it's kinda a quick background on our girl Alice

Alright, this is NOT my best writing, and it's kinda a quick background on our girl Alice. But it's necessary to get a small feel for her.

Also, on the television was an interesting psychological look at Batman and Villans done by real psychologist and criminal profilers. It parallels their psychosis with real life killers (Dahmer sent clues to the cops, like Riddler (a narcissist), getting off on the rush and that makes him like this…) It also reinforced my long standing idea that our past really forms the people we are to day, better or worse. But don't worry I won't fuck up the Joker with some sappy background story, I feel I'll go with a kinda different approach. Well they are about to profile the Joker, so PEACE.

--

"Hello?" the mobsters voice on the other line sent shivers down my spine.

"Hey, it's Alice, your Alice in Wonderland Girl."

I could almost hear him smile. "When do you want to work?"

When I moved to Gotham, it was supposed to be a new start. I was 18, with a load fake documents with me to prove I was who I was inventing, and a backpack full of my belongings. I never had a name, so I choose Alice this time. Alice in Wonderland was one of the few things I was found with at eight years old. I was in a shirt from "Captain Spaulding's Museum of Monsters and Madmen" and some panties, dirty and bruised. I remember a whore leaving me at a police station. She was probably my mom, but no one knows. I don't remember anything else. There is nothing before eight.

My first foster home named me Betty, the father touched me, I killed him. I was 10. I don't remember doing it; I took off to another town. By 12, I killed a little boy living in a shelter with me. Police reports say the little girl was laughing as horrified adults looked on in surprise. My name was Mary. I kept this up, killing every now and again until I was 16. I don't think about the deaths, the blood, I've pushed it all away. I don't like the feeling of helplessness while I am in that sort of ecstasy place. My dreams are filled with those things, my professors call it a shadow side, but I want to understand those feelings, dissect them so I can get rid of them.

I found the mob and worked as a dancer, suppressing my urges in order to make enough to study them. I understood that I wanted to major in psychoanalysis and criminal profiling. The mob gave me the documents in exchange for dancing and various small jobs, and helped me move into Gotham City.

I don't think about the past anymore, but I keep the Spaulding shirt to remind me of how close insanity I can be. Now that I was where I had worked so hard to be. In a stroke of luck, I was awarded the scholarship from Bruce Wayne Inc., which paid full tuition but left out the other pesky necessities. The draw back was that I had to keep a 4.0, so sometimes I stopped working and in turn eating. A grand plus, eating dinner once a month with the man himself, and I made sure I **ate.** Mr. Wayne didn't know really anything about me, mostly we discussed the weather, and it was clear he only did this to keep his image.

Dancing is the easiest, and once a month helps me pay the rent. I stand out in Gotham. My real blond hair, fake baby blues, and wispy frame were reminiscent of Hollywood, of freedom to the men of Gotham. I put on a wonderland costume, and it's a trip to a different world for them, and a big sum of cash for me.

As I walked out the door after a long night of dancing, I relished the moist air of freedom. I danced with such abandon, with such release tonight. This was the end of struggle; my demons could be released as I really got to work with what hell had to offer. Money wouldn't be abundant at first, but I would no longer go through the aching pain of starving. My life is finally falling into perfect order and I laughed. My laugh is maniacal, and I try hard to suppress it when I was in public, it sounded creepy even to me. But tonight I let it bounce off the buildings, into the air of Gotham. I felt reckless tonight, drunk from having things seem so well in my life. My smile seemed to devour my face as I raced home to catch a few hours of sleep before my Saturday really began.

--

ok this is slow, and we haven't see mr. j recently, but he will be here in a chapter or two, then things get really interesting. be honest, review


	4. Angels In The Snow

Sorry about the long wait, I have a bad eye infection in my left eye and surgery on Wednesday (tomorrow) so the story got put on hold for a while. Plus I ever since I started writing this, this was the in-between chapter I was scared to write. I promise the joker is coming back soon. And this story is three month after the last chapter. Gotta get things moving towards Mr. J faster.

I do not own the Joker or anything Batman related.

Most of my chapters are written while headbanging to Slipknot, 36 Crazyfists, Kidneythieves and the likes. Most of my titles come from these groups, and this particular chapter is written to the manic psychotic noise of Frail Limb Nursery/Purity by Slipknot. It was taken off of their first cd due to a lawsuite, but is one of my all time favorite songs ever (and if you wanna here him laugh at his sexiest, I have seen it on youtube, I feel complete now…)

--

The black pants I purchased off a rack in some forsaken discounted store in the edges of town sat snuggly on my hips. It has taken me almost two months of crawling from discount bin to discount bin trying to find clothes that can be altered into something resembling professional. After a few weeks of sewing every night, I have taken all of the clothes in and all of the extra appendages off in order to create my now beautiful wardrobe that my superiors actually do not mind.

A very slight white silk-like undershirt hugs my torso and my white blonde cornrows fell around my shoulders as I stare into my mirror. For the first time in a long time I smile at my reflection. I am moving up, after three months of sitting with low functioning criminals, who probably couldn't tie their own shoes after the fear toxin let alone actually do any real damage to society, I am being given a surprise case on Monday. Supposedly someone big, but I don't care as long as I can talk to a semi-functional being.

_Stand up straight_

Mr. Wayne won't notice how nicely I'm glowing, but I don't care. I'll talk his ear off like I do every month at these meetings, and leave with a full belly, while he sits half asleep. I did another little turn in the mirror, my knock off Jimmy Choo's nicely polished and glowing like Cinderella's glass slippers, made me feel like a real life princess tonight. My bright red phone began to vibrate as _"I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date, no time say Hello, GOODBYE, I'm late I'm late I'm LATE"_ blared from it. That's my que to exit stage left. I snapped up my fake red snakeskin clutch and danced down the stairs.

Pulling up to one of Mr. Wayne's many restaurants I screeching into the valet line, knowing that because I am his guest I won't have to pay or sit for an hour searching for a spot in the crowding city. I glided out of the car, practically floating towards the maître d'. Not tonight, Mr. Wayne's inattention would not touch my mood, and I got the feeling that even the maître d' could see a difference.

His eyes did a quick scan as a Cheshire girn spread across my face, "My lady, you do clean up quiet well. Right this way." For the first time, he took my arm and led me to the table. It was no surprise that my "date" was nowhere in site while I was sat at the table.

I sat, taking my first finger in circles around my red wine glass, the dark red liquid dancing in my eyes, my mind consumed in thoughts and stuck in a double base type pace. _Finger, glass, finger, glass, blood red liquid dance._

My table was suddenly covered in a strangely human shaped shadow. Mr. Wayne cleared his throat, "Miss Alice?"

My eyes slowly removed themselves from their trance towards the tall figure hovering above me. "Oh, hi Mr. Wayne!" My voice filled with joy at the prospect of having dinner finally start.

He motioned at the water sitting next to us to come. "Will it be your usual?" His eyes barely made it all the way over towards me, his eyelids drooping slightly.

"Uhm. Yes, please." I stammered. Mr. Wayne has always been inattentive and tired looking, but he'd never looked so utterly beaten down and exhausted before.

He ordered the dinner, slowly and with what seemed like pain adjusted in his seat so he could lean against the table a bit more. "So, I hear that you have big news." His face trying hard to portray that he gave a flying fuck but his eyes did not move from a spot on the table.

"If you are not feeling well, we can call it a night and I'll talk to you at some other point." I tried my best to keep a distant tone as I said this, as if it would not crush me to have to leave hungry.

"No, no I'm fine." His jaw looked like he was babying it, not opening it as wide as he usually does and his eyes still stuck on the table.

"Well, after three long months I'm being given a big promotion of sorts. I finally get to have a patient not paralyzed by fear toxin, someone who can string a few words together," my head reeled with the possibilities. Suddenly it dawned on me, bigger patients and bigger pay and maybe I can get out of the narrows, maybe even one day be the one taking someone else out to dinners. While my mind was flying out the window, my eyes wandered back over to Mr. Wayne.

His eyes were closed, and his mouth was beginning to…droop. What do I **do**? Do I shake him, or do I just let him sit there slumped over in his chair like that? The waiter was at my side with the food in hand as we both assessed the situation. He placed the food on the table and gave me the longest look of pity I had ever received.

Suddenly something on him buzzed and he shot up straight as if he had been electrocuted. His hands flew around his pockets in a manic search for the source of the vibration. My food steamed in front of me, teasing me. Once the phone was in his hand moving toward his face I knew I would not be enjoying this evening's delicious food. His hand again motioned towards the waiter.

Mr. Wayne hung up the phone, and told the waiter to pack everything up and put into my car for me. We then just kind of looked at each other. This has never happened before. "I figure you could use more meat on your bones." He tired to make light of my borderline emaciated frame. "Well, I need to leave. I'm sorry, but call and we can-" his voice started to trail. The vain attempt at easing himself out seemed to make the awkward air between us even more awkward.

I smiled and stood up with him. We both ended up bowing to each other and he was off rushing towards the door. I smiled, at least I will eat something other then ramen tonight.

My car seemed warm and welcoming with the smell of food encompassing it, and even though the food was barely warm by the time I got home I shoveled it into my mouth savoring every last calorie.

Corey Taylor's voice screamed me into a sweet sound sleep, and his laugh seemed to warn me as killer clowns shoved me back into a sweaty, sunny Saturday morning.


	5. Disasterpiece

So my surgery went OK, I got a scar and a tube, but rather inspired due to long hours of drug induced nap attacks after the surgery.

Again, do not own, seriously I won't be here if I did (some of the lines are from Alice in Wonderland, and I don't own those either). Also, this is very much an inspiration from a night of listening to 36 crazy fist's midnight swim and city ignites on top of pain medication and anesthesia. Also, the title of the chapter is a good Slipknot song that I feel would be an interesting stream of thought from the eye of Mr. J.

You'll here me mention "Management of Aggressive Behavior" which is a real course you can be certified in, and is really interesting. I know about it because my mom used the blanket technique and other passive restraint techniques on my brother and me when we were younger. It's a non-painful, and really effective way of restraining someone, exerting your authority over them, and moving them. It is used in mental institutions, jails, and in behavioral correction facilities currently. Just wanted to let you know because it will come up continuously.

Sorry the chapter and everything is so long, I just couldn't stop writing.

Enjoy and review

--

"Hi reflection." I nervously twirl my pointer finger around and around my thumb staring at my reflection in the glass of my office. _Skin, nail, skin, nail._ My reflection sat staring blankly at me, no response. The clock, half an hour more until I get my assignment.

My legs shuffled nervously beneath me. _Let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen, and four times seven is—_

My phone _brrrrrrrrrang_ and I shot up in my seat banging my knees on my desk. Ouch. My hands flew over to the phone, "Hello."

"I see you **are** here early. If you want you can come to my office and we can discuss your new case now." The boss' voice seemed emotionless, as always. I hung the phone back onto the cradle, and stood to walk over to his office one floor up. My black quilted flats make little taps of noise as I hurry, not worrying to cover up my excitement.

My hand lightly tapped the door, and I was summoned in. "Please, sit." He didn't bother to look up at me as I entered or point to where I should sit. "Just so you understand, this is not a case I wanted you to have, or think you can handle." His eyes finally looked up and over me. "You are among the last set of people we are trying."

His eye looked into mine, as I sat somewhat dumfounded. I am use to the lack of faith in my ability, and apparent hatred of me as a person, but he had never been so quick to point out just how **much** he hated me. My pointer and thumb began to do their dance again, round and round.

After the long pregnant pause, his eyes went back to the ever-present paperwork on his desk. "You will be starting with a preliminary session with the Joker today."

My eyes began to bug out of my skull. **The Joker!** My breathe seemed to take a life of it's own. "Thank, thank you sir. Thank you for this opportunity."

"We will be taping you, and there will be a guard outside the door. The session will be however long you can last going up to 45 minutes. The Joker will be lightly bound, with handcuffs in the front of his body. I hope you aren't wearing any jewelry or anything he can grab hold of easily. Don't stare at his scares. Just knock on the door if you want to be let out, and we will also come and get you if…"

He paused to look at my face, puzzled by the grin that was growing there. As soon as I realized he was starring at me, I worked hard to plaster a serious look on my face. "We will come and get you if we notice things are going wrong. When you are done, we will review the tape and decide if you can continue with the Joker." He handed me the file for the Joker, and instructed me to be at the Jokers cell in an hour.

I simply bowed and walked out of his office file in hand. Once I was back in my office, I screamed. I opened the file for the Joker and dove into the paperwork determined to absorb as much as I could before the meeting.

Standing in front of the cell, everyone else seemed to disappear. My left hand continuously smoothing out my shirt and pants, my nerves causing my heart to pound in my ears. My right hand was clutching the folder so tightly I thought the papers would slice through my skin. As the door opened I was greeted by…a man, a man with stringy green hair covering his face as his head hung. He was much thinner then I had thought he would be, and I could tell he was extremely tall even slumped on the edge of his bed. I walked in sort of disappointed. The door clanked behind me and I hear the cameras electric buzzing. This man couldn't do any harm to anyone; he seemed to be a broken shell of the person I had seen on the television.

Slowly the Joker lifted his head and turned it towards me, his somewhat lethargic manner earlier disappeared. A slow grin, accented by his deep Chelsea scars, began to spread on his face and that maniacal laughter, that was plastered all over the news, erupted in the cell.

His lips smacked together. "Well _hellllloooooooo_ Mssssss…"

"Ms. Alice." My eyes roamed over the room, always keeping the Joker in my peripheral vision. His bed was against the left wall as I entered the room, with a small simple desk on the wall behind it. The door was on the right side of the back wall and the right wall was blank with nothing on it. The whole room was grey, with no windows and only a florescent light set on a 12 ft ceiling. I was hugging the paperwork to my chest with my right arm, as I slowly made my way to the desk across the room.

"Well, well. They certainly have" he took a deep breath, "upgraded. You know how many of you I've been through?" he began giggling. "You are the first that looks like something **resembling** a real person." He leaned forward in the bed towards me. I giggled, unable to help myself. "We need more people like you here." His meaner took on a childlike tone.

"Well that may be, but I am here to work though." I tried to appear as adult and authoritative as I could. "Since you have a name to call **me** by, what should I call you?"

"The Joker suits me just fine." He leaned forward, almost folded in half over his knees, resting his chin in his cuffed hands his eyes staring into me.

"But it's such a strange thing to form in my mouth. The Joker." My face took on a look of confusion. "It's to comic book for me."

"Hmmmm, well how about John…no no. I have always wanted to be called Jacob." He sat straight up, quiet pleased with himself.

"Well. You do have a thing for the letter J." I stared at him. "How about Mr. J?"

His face lit up, "I liiiiiiike that. You **are** a clever one." His eyes seemed to be smiling at me.

Mr. J's approval somehow felt more sincere then "normal" people's approval. I walked over to the table, setting the paper work down beside me and leaning on it as support. "So, Mr. J, I need to ask you some questions." I looked, as his face seemed to fall. "It is the reason I am here."

"Yeah." His face seemed to tell me that I had just stolen his favorite toy.

"I know what other people have asked you, and I don't feel the need to hammer through the details of the last few months actions again. I would like to go…further back. Is that ok?" I tried to remember to stay authoritative but yet calm and un-intrusive like I had been taught in college.

"What happens if I say 'no'?"

"I'll still ask the questions. I just-"

"Want me to feel like I am a part of the process, and so on and so forth." He mocked my voice as well he could, which would have been really irritating if it wasn't so true of a statement.

"Well, I mean." I scrambled around for words. "I wouldn't say it like that."

Mr. J let out another one of his laughs. "Oh calm down. You really are a doll Ms. Alice." He smiled at me and mock surrendered his hands as if they weren't in cuffs already, "Do you worst."

"Well, ok. What's your first memory?"

He sat, scrunching his face, actually contemplating my question. A minute passed, me studying him, him studying the air. "My hands."

Great, he's playing with me. My eyes rolled as I let out an audible sigh.

He pulled his cuffed hands in front of his face, "Hands are very powerful." He seemed to be defensive. "The power to comfort, to caress, to hurt, to kill." He stretched his arms out, showing me his hands. "I can welcome you in, or shove you away." He pulled his hands back to his face, "I remember staring at my hands. The power of such creations." I stared at him, my mouth slightly open. "Then my eyes. They where seeing, interpreting, then relaying to my brain."

I realized that I was leaning in toward him as his voice lowered, being pulled in to his story. "Did u know skin sizzles like chicken?"

"Excuse me?" I sat disoriented by the sudden change of events. Suddenly he was up, rushing me. I stood to get to the door, and he caught me on the blank wall. His hands fit perfectly around my throat as he pinned me into the wall.

"It smells bad though, cause of all of our hair. You see, I was at the stove, turning on and off the fire." His voice was rapid, but maintaining his sing song rhythm. "Only, my mom wasn't so thrilled with that since she was trying to cook. She took her hand," he let go of my throat and grabbed my wrist, "and grabbed my wrist. She put my hand in the fire." He was scooped over, hovering over my hand, trembling under his gaze. I heard the door opening as the guards rushed in.

"It's all kind of the same." He looked up at me as he moved back, letting go of my wrist. "The power to create, nourish, and still destroy." The cops grabbed him and a nurse rushed in with a needle full of tranquilizer. "I love that smell."

I stood in shock, a sort of warmth taking over my skin. A few seconds later I found myself running to grab the paperwork and get the hell out of the room. I looked at my boss who was standing outside the door, a horrible smile on his face. He looked at me, "Not half bad. You lasted quiet a while in there, and if you hadn't let your guard down you might have actually made it all the way to 45 minutes."

I stared at my boss. "I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

"What makes you think you are going to get another chance Ms. Alice?" He seemed smug towering over me.

"He opened up, if even for just a second."

"But you forgot all of your training on the Management of Aggressive Behavior, your passive restraint techniques."

"But I got further than anyone else."

"Well, I will be reviewing the tape later and will let you know my decision tomorrow. You can go home for the day" he shoed me away with his hands, as I looked back into the cell at the slumped body of Mr. J. "Go along."

I walked back to my room defeated; the taping of my pseudo-ballet shoes no longer prancing. I bumped into my door, the rush I felt with Mr. J left me spent, the disappointment of knowing I probably would never experience it again left me unusually heavy. I grabbed my keys and cell phone, surprised to notice a message left by Mr. Wayne's home number.

_I'm probably looking for you in the black hole that is my purse right now, leave me your number and a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I find you. _My voice sang in my phone, as I realized that I should probably go about making my message sound more grown up.

**BEEP**! "This is Alfred. How are you? Master Wayne would like to take you to dinner to make up for his rude running out this past Friday. Just call the house and let me know if you are able to make it. Take care Ms. Alice." **BEEP**!

Alfred has a way of making everyone feel important. Still, it is odd that Mr. Wayne wants to make up for Friday so soon.

I dialed the number to the house on my way out the door, passing the 1940's reject on my way out. "Hello Alfred, it's me Alice."

"Hi, how was your big client?" I was surprised he knew I had gotten the promotion.

"Oh, The Joker was…well, the Joker."

"Oh dear, I couldn't be paid enough for that position." Alfred frowned; he knew Bruce would be happy to know someone so close with the Joker. "Well, about tonight."

"I am free, where should I be and when?" I tried to smile, and not let Alfred know how badly everything had gone.

As I reached my home after a small lunch at the local deli, my phone rang again, this time I was being called from Arkham.

"Hello."

"Hello Alice. I was just calling to let you know that after a quick viewing of your tape and a short discussion, the board thinks," he sighed, obviously not happy, "you should continue working with The Joker."

"Thank y-"

"You are lucky to have such high friends Ms. Alice. I didn't think you would be so low as to call Mr. Wayne and complain that we might take the case away from you."

"No I-"

"Well that is that. You'll be seeing him every other day, and between those visits you'll be continuing work with two of your previous fear toxin patients. Mess up again and consider finding another institution to work at." **BEEEEEEEEEEP**. The dead line filled the whole room with its emptiness.

I carefully folded up my clothes, and laid back on the bed in my underwear, letting my dreads out of the half ponytail I had worn that day. My eyelids sagged down, and before I know what's happening I've fallen into Wonderland.

_I'm late, I'm late for a very important date, No time to say hello, GOODBYE, I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!_

My eyelids slowly opened as I grabbed my phone from the table beside me. I had set my calendar to go off 30 minutes before the dinner date to remind me to get into my car.

**6:00 pm**

Shit! I jumped out of bed, wobbling over to my dresser to throw on a pair of black skinny slacks and a silk turquoise tank top. I slipped on the same quilted shoes as earlier and a grey shall. I grabbed my cell phone and other necessities throwing them into a cute purse with a sequins elephant a transfer student from Thailand had given me. I flew down the stairs towards my car, completely forgetting my contacts or any makeup in my hurry.

I sped the entire way to the restaurant, almost mowing over the poor valet parkers once I arrived.

**6:29 pm**

I smiled at them, and apologized for almost hitting them. I walked into the restaurant and the maître d' smiled at me, probably a little confused with my slightly messy outfit and look. He walked me to the reserved table, and I was almost floored with surprise that Mr. Wayne was already there.

The maître d' pulled my chair out to seat me. I looked shocked over at Mr. Wayne, who sat smiling at me. "You look very nice today Alice. Are you wearing contacts?"

I shook my head, "Long story. But thank you Mr. Wayne." I can't believe he noticed me eye color all this time.

"I hear you have a very high profile client. I am very impressed that you got that high in such a short time." His comments seemed a two-sided compliment.

"Thank you for calling Arkham, but you didn-"

"Oh, don't mention it. I didn't want them passing you over when you have been working so hard for them."

What is Mr. Wayne talking about? Has he really been keeping tabs on me and listening at our meetings?

"How about a toast?" An almost devilish look came over his eyes as he motioned to the waiter and ordered a bottle of red wine.


End file.
